


Of honourable twats and bad flirts

by shamelessllamapeanutthing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Author Aziraphale, M/M, body painter Crowley, listen I don't know what happened okay?, might have accidentally gone overboard, tried to make them as dumb as in canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelessllamapeanutthing/pseuds/shamelessllamapeanutthing
Summary: “I’d offer to help with that except you told me to not flirt with you.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	Of honourable twats and bad flirts

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize beforehand to anyone personally traumatized by how awful this is going to be. I had to rush.

“Well…”, the chuckle that accompanied that ‘well’ sounded awkward to Aziraphale himself and he barely kept from cringing. 

‘Fuck you, Gabriel!’ And a mental reminder to stop cussing just a second later. 

“I wasn’t made aware of this and quite frankly, I’m…-”

“We did explain it clearly to your manager Gabriel, and even paid for it upfront.” The editor of the magazine, Anathema, interrupted him and repeated her statement for the seventh time, lips and eyes narrowed with exasperation now, even as she continued to smile. 

‘Rude.’ 

Aziraphale didn’t blame her though. He was being quite difficult to deal with but it wasn’t like it was his fault! He had been completely blindsided! Feeling a lengthy curse make its way to the tip of his tongue, he visibly swallowed. Fully aware of how irritating his behavior was and how he couldn’t back down from an appointment his manager had already collected payment for, he nodded his head and felt some knots in his stomach unravel at the relieved smile that spread over Anathema’s young face. 

“Perfect!”, she clapped her hands together. “My assistant will lead you to your make up artist.”

A dirty blonde-haired boy of around 18 to 19, who had been standing a few ways off, came up to the two and with a polite smile extended his hand out towards Aziraphale, a confidence characteristic to the modern kid’s later teen years evident in not only his grip but the offer in itself. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Fell. I am Adam.” 

“Hello, Adam. How are you?” 

“Anxious and failing Biology, but that’s not new.”, the candidness of the kid had Aziraphale unable to come up with a response. Were there actually people out there who replied honestly when asked how they were? Adam grinned. 

“Come on, I will take you to Anthony.” 

Anthony. The guy he’d have to strip in front of. 

Never in his entire life had he imagined he’d be doing something like this but then he’d never imagined he would actually be famous enough to feature in a magazine as popular as the Woke Witches of Eden. 

It was immensely popular amongst youngsters, a magazine that dealt with all relevant social issues and political developments in the light of far left, right and centrist theories. It was started by Anathema and her boyfriend Newton some seven years ago and steadily gained popularity as both hard and soft copies appealed to a varied demographic of readers. Aziraphale himself had been a fan for quite a while now as the magazine’s balanced and logical debates served to remind people of the essence of true conservative and liberal ideologies as compared to the demonized fanatical right-wing or pseudo-liberal bullshit that had infiltrated the social scene and only served to divide people and encourage intolerance. 

So, when Gabriel informed Aziraphale that the WWOE had asked for an exclusive interview with the book critic turned author, he had jumped for joy. The issue for the month dealt with toxic masculinity and Aziraphale, who had been a champion for body positivity for men had been invited for his first interview revolving around his own struggles with his self-image and what inspired him to be so vocal about the same. 

He had just finished the interview with Anathema herself, and Aziraphale was very pleased with the questions that had been put forward as well as his response to them. The questions hit right at the core and he had managed to remain eloquent and persuasive in all his answers. He truly couldn’t have asked for a better release of his own story or a more intelligent interviewer. It won’t be an exaggeration to say that he was positively glowing with happiness once the camera was turned off. 

Till he found out about the photos he was to pose for. 

More specifically very revealing photos that would clearly display his stretch marks, chubby physique, and cellulite. 

Now it wasn’t that Aziraphale was ashamed of his body, but not being ashamed of it did not necessarily involve being ready to waltz into a studio and get shot half-naked at the drop of a hat, which he truly wasn’t. He could see the point behind wanting to picture somebody who regularly spoke up about body positivity being confident and easy with himself. It would definitely set a strong example but Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he was the person for it. 

He wasn’t easy with his body being on display, because he just wasn’t easy with nudity. He was naturally modest and had never worn half-sleeved shirts even in his teens. As a grown man of thirty-one, he didn’t feel comfortable wearing them even now so how he’d ever manage to go ahead with this deal, he couldn’t understand. 

However, he was a man of his word and Gabriel had already agreed on his end.

‘I need to fire that bastard.’ 

Gently reprimanding himself over cussing yet again, Aziraphale silently followed the teen out of the studio they had just finished the interview in, across a hallway and to a door with a white paper reading ‘A.J. Crowley’ in bold black letters taped onto it.

‘That’s quite a name.’ 

The big idea was to have his stretch marks painted golden to highlight them and create a statement. It was a rising trend and Aziraphale had seen some impressive pictures on the Internet before. He was convinced he won’t manage to look half as breathtaking or ethereal. 

Feeling a nervous jitter start in his fingertips, Aziraphale clasped his hands together and plastered a smile on his face as Adam turned the doorknob and opened the door, standing aside to let the author enter first. 

The room inside was a drab light grey in contrast with the rest of the studio’s pastel blue decor. A victorian era couch with a dark mahogany frame and a black velvety looking cover with faint silver thread details sat backed up against a plain wall and a table cluttered with brushes, tins, mirrors plus other odds and ends set up next to it. Two non-flowering potted plants stood on both corners of the door. Apart from that, the room had nothing else in it. Absolutely nothing.

What captured Aziraphale’s attention though, wasn’t the overwhelming love for minimalism, but who he assumed to be Anthony J. Crowley himself, the tall, lanky and presumably older man that lounged across the couch with all the grace of the world, one foot on top of the other and arms casually crossed over his chest as he napped, black-clad chest softly rising and falling. Long strands of a deep maroon fell around his head in a mess that looked like it was carefully arranged to give the impression of absolute nonchalance. From what Aziraphale could see, he had extremely sharp cheekbones and a rather pointy nose and chin. Black-tinted, oval-shaped, rimless glasses rested delicately on the bridge of his nose, a little skewed to the side but expensive-looking anyway.

Now that Aziraphale noticed, the gentleman’s entire attire seemed carefully tailored and expensive. His shoes were polished till they shone, and his black pants hugged his legs like a second skin. A tie had been discarded to the floor, black obviously. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat, nerves rising to an all-time high, only getting aggravated by the absolute carelessness that oozed from the man’s frame. Aziraphale himself was seconds away from breaking into shivers, and this man was sleeping on his job! 

Well, admittedly he wasn’t actually doing anything just then but it is the sentiment that counts!

Seeing his polite little intrusion hadn’t actually managed to intrude on the man’s sleep at all, Aziraphale cleared his throat again, louder this time. When it still had no effect, he turned to Adam with an enquiring look. 

Sheepishly smiling, Adam called out to Crowley. He received no response. 

Some of Aziraphale’s nerves had very much jumped ship to the category of irritation now.

With a sterner voice, that made Adam arch a brow he said, “I think you should go a little closer.” 

Nodding, Adam went to stand right by Crowley’s shoulder and tried again a couple of times. The man stirred a little but was clearly too deep a sleeper to be woken so easily. 

“Try shaking his shoulder.”, Aziraphale advised again, on the verge of frowning now, not that he would ever. It wasn’t an expression he included in his work attire. 

“Yeah… no.”, Adam said. “He is a big hotshot make up artist and all that. I don’t know how he would like that.” 

“It’s just a touch to the shoulder to wake him up!” 

“You’re welcome to try.”, Adam said, looking right into Aziraphale’s annoyed eyes.

The author marched up to stand right beside Adam anyhow but did not make any moves to touch the sleeping beauty. Glancing at the teenager again, he finally broke out the frown of immense disapproval, as his manager mockingly called it. 

“I thought you were on a first-name basis?” 

“What?” Chuckling lightly, Adam rolled his eyes. “Oh! That means nothing. He asks everybody to call him Anthony. Crowley is for the people close to him or something. He said it on his Twitter, I think.” 

“What a strange man.” 

“Definitely is. Did nobody tell you that? He really doesn’t take well to people calling him by his last name.”

“Nobody is telling me anything these days.”, Aziraphale quipped under his breath.

Giving him a strange look, Adam turned to Crowley again. After a good six or seven attempts more, they were awarded a groaning sound and a stretching of limbs as the man lazily sat up. Aziraphale watched, transfixed by the man’s exaggerated and vaguely snakelike gestures as he cocked his head, licked his lips, turned his head from left to right and finally pulled his glasses off. 

Brilliant amber eyes gave Aziraphale a once over from top to toe. A grin curled along one side of his thin lips and Crowley cocked a brow. 

“You sure took your sweet time coming to me, angel.” 

‘Angel?’

A little too miffed by how relaxed this man was, Aziraphale forgot to blush over the nickname. 

“Well, some of us have actual work to do. You can be sure I wasn’t sleeping my time away like this other lazy devil I recently had the misfortune of coming across.”

“Who went and pissed in your tea, Mr. Fell? Might bribe them to do it again because I have never seen somebody who made anger look so adorable in my entire life.” Crowley stood up and took a strutting step closer to the stunned author. What had actually stunned him, the reply or this auburn-haired man’s ridiculous gait, is yet to be determined. 

‘Wait, is this flirting?’

Aziraphale, with his limited experience with dating but abundant knowledge of the same through the various romances he had read in his life, quickly decided it was. 

“Do not flirt with me while I am working!” Aziraphale’s blood decided to catch up with the rest of his body and quickly rushed up to color his cheeks a faint pink. 

Smirk never falling, Crowley’s hand went back and dipped in his jeans pocket, retrieving his cell phone which he quickly unlocked and handed to Aziraphale. 

“Better type in your number then so I can call you once you’re done.” 

‘Oh, this smooth bugger.’

Shoving the phone back into Crowley’s hands, Aziraphale crossed his arms across his chest, even as a smile threatened to break out across his lips. He really had no right to be this annoyed with the man. So he took a nap in his free time? It wasn’t Crowley’s fault that Aziraphale was caught in this pinch. 

Plus, Aziraphale really couldn’t remember the last time anyone had actually spoken to him for anything not related to work. 

“Well,”, Adam glanced nervously between the two. “I, uh, hope you’ll get along! Be nice, Anthony! You’re expected outside in thirty minutes Mr. Fell.” Before straight bolting out of the room. 

“Let’s take these off now, shall we?” Crowley gestured vaguely at Aziraphale’s clothes before turning to his work table and starting to rifle through some tins. Nerves hitting him back in the face with all their might, Aziraphale found his fingers twiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat instead of undoing them.

Lost in thoughts of exactly where he wanted Gabriel to go and how, Aziraphale didn’t notice when Crowley was done with whatever he had been preparing by the table and was now standing in front of him, one foot tapping against the floor and a brow cocked. 

Tilting his head to the side, he gave Aziraphale another smirk, which was less of a smirk and more of a grin. “I’d offer to help with that except you told me to not flirt with you.” 

Biting back a snort of amusement, Aziraphale threw the man a half-hearted glare, before making his shivering fingers actually start working on his buttons. To his wry surprise, unbuttoning his waistcoat really wasn’t as monumental an action as he had blown it up to feel like in his mind. The guy in front of him must be used to seeing a lot of naked bodies if this was indeed his job. It was like going to the doctor! Yes!

Except this doctor was hot and liked to make suggestive comments. 

Feeling a flush return to his cheeks, he hastily pirouetted so his back faced Crowley. Fully expecting a mocking chuckle, he was pleasantly surprised when he had shrugged off his waistcoat and any words from his present companion were yet to come. Shuffling resumed at the table instead and when Aziraphale turned back around to lay his waistcoat upon the couch, he found the man had turned away, inching his body to the side with his head bent, clearly trying to give him his privacy. It made a small smile flit across his face.

‘And well, if I am going to be naked in front of an entire crew of photographers and the Almighty alone knows who else, I should at least be able to present myself with confidence to this solitary man, first.’

Mind made up, the author did not turn back around, choosing to face Crowley’s back as he undid his bow tie and let it fall on top of his discarded waistcoat, before moving to his shirt. Finding it a tad more difficult to breath, Aziraphale closed his eyes for five seconds, and then, with the haste of a kid ripping off a band-aid, quickly undid his buttons and threw his shirt open, his entire body then freezing on him as if he was expecting the archangels to come flying down to Earth and give him a good punch to the gut for doing this. 

It wasn’t even that Aziraphale had never been intimate with anyone before. As a matter of fact, he had but it was Gabriel and they were in their early twenties and it had been the most toxic and hateful relationship the author had ever heard of. Like a leech, the older man sucked the life out of him every day of the four years they spent together. It took Gabriel flying into a rage and trying to choke the author to death that had finally made him realize he needed to leave. 

How they had managed to save their friendship, he didn’t know. Maybe they hadn’t after all. Gabriel had asked for his forgiveness, or demanded more like, with a thousand reasons cited as to how it was the blonde and his actions that drove him to the edge like that. So basically, Aziraphale was the one at fault and if anything he should be the one apologizing for disturbing Gabriel’s mental state. Aziraphale had scoffed and called bullshit but as always was unable to stand firm and ended up letting the asshole back into his life, this time as his manager and a distant friend. However, the author silently counted it as a defeat every time he looked into those amethyst eyes and saw Gabriel’s pompous smirk.

With a deep sigh, he removed his shirt from his shoulders and laid it down carefully beside his waistcoat. 

“Anthony, I am ready.”

Turning around, Crowley gave him a once-over and a soft smirk graced his lips. 

“Those trousers will need to come off too but we can take it one step at a time.” 

Sheepishly grinning in embarrassment, Aziraphale nodded. He was thankful for Crowley’s consideration anyway. 

“Sit down for now. You’re not gonna be able to when we get to your thighs.” 

Gratefully, Aziraphale sat down on the couch next to his clothes, hand on his knees, looking expectantly up at Crowley’s amused face. The look on the man’s face made him blush, he was no longer teasing him but it felt like the stranger was enjoying a private joke at the author’s expense.

Strangely though, it didn’t feel malicious.

Trying his hardest to not cross his arms across his chest, Aziraphale absolutely stiffened when the man’s fingers slid into his hair, sifting through his blonde locks with a gentleness nobody would associate with Crowley at first glance. 

Aziraphale sat there, immobile and gazing at the older man with wide eyes as he contemplated the author’s hair with the utmost gravity. The sharp golden eyes took on a calculating look and he clicked his tongue before abruptly withdrawing his hand. 

“Like I said, silver would be better.” 

He turned away and picked up a small translucent jar but the author could clearly see the paint inside was silver, not golden. 

“I am pretty sure Anathema mentioned golden, my dear.”

“Well, I told her that silver would suit you better. Really bring out the baby blues,”, he said while gesturing at Aziraphale’s eyes. “And it’s only natural that if she’s hired me to do the job, she trusts my judgment isn’t it?” 

“S-so long as you’re sure it won’t be causing a problem.” 

“Only way to find out is to show her. I personally do think a visual would be a lot more helpful in really rubbing it in that I was right.” Crowley grinned and Aziraphale shook his head. 

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience her in any way, besides…-”

“Are you always this prissy?” 

“Are you always such a careless and overbearing prat?” 

“I don’t know. Been pretty considerate if I do say so myself.” With a wry smirk, Crowley gestured at the pants Aziraphale still had the good fortune to be wearing.

“Just get on with it!”

Rolling his eyes, Crowley shifted to move behind Aziraphale, a knee resting on the soft cushioning for a second before he maneuvred his long limbs thus that his legs hung off both sides of the author so that he was sitting between the older man’s parted legs. 

Aziraphale felt breath ghost across the back of his neck and he suppressed the urge to shiver as he felt the man behind him lean closer. Faint fingers brushing along his lower back prompted him to straighten up, before climbing over his spine and threading back into his hair, pushing his head to make him lean forward exposing his back to Crowley.

The first time he felt the soft paintbrush tickle the side of his back, he couldn’t hold back the deep, deep sigh that fell from his parted lips, and was mortified to hear Crowley chuckle. 

“Careful there, won’t have a lot to protect your modesty with if you end up getting hard right now.”

‘Of course, I wouldn’t!’ 

Except Crowley was beautiful and his faint and fleeting touches felt exactly how Aziraphale liked, whispers brushing against his skin with a reverent passion and…-

Aziraphale gave his head a vehement shake, to make himself fall out of his daydream. He really, really couldn’t afford to be thinking along those lines right now. 

Immediately, he heard Crowley cry out in indignation. 

“What. In hell. Is wrong with you?! You just made me mess up the entire line!”

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear…-”

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear!”, Crowley mocked in a comically high accent before giving Aziraphale a semi-hard pat on his back to make him straighten up again. 

The movements and sounds behind him ended with a cloth gently rubbing against him, presumably to take the paint off. A second later, the cloth was replaced by a wet one rubbing circles around the patch under his shoulder blades, making him bite onto his lip to restrain himself from shivering again. 

“Try not to move. Glitter doesn’t come off easily once it dries.” Crowley instructed in a gentler tone and making Aziraphale lean forward once again began anew. 

The brush flitted against his skin again and Aziraphale recognized an urge to roll over and giggle this time. He wasn’t particularly ticklish but the sensation of the fine strands against his bare body, coupled with the ultimatum to stay still made him want to break out in chuckles. 

Biting down on his knuckles, he forced himself to stay absolutely still while Crowley continued tracing intricate designs on his back with breathy sweeps of his brush. Taking short and calming breaths, he instructed himself to refrain from making any embarrassing noises. With every sweeping stroke that spread the cold liquid against his skin, he bit down harder into his lip. 

Taking a pause, Crowley leaned over to scoop more fluid onto his palette. If Aziraphale would have opened his eyes just then, he would have seen the faint blush that crossed the auburn-haired man’s cheeks for a mere second, when he caught sight of the wanton expression on the author’s face. 

Settling back to work again, he resumed painting his back, and said, “You’ll break skin if you don’t stop biting your lip, and Anathema really won’t like that.” 

Startled and absolutely baffled at how Crowley could have possibly picked it up from behind him, Aziraphale decided to ignore him, pouting in righteous and indignant silence.

The following twenty minutes were a pleasant sort of torture on his nerves. Not only had he not done it in quite a while, but Crowley was also quite attractive. As Aziraphale’s nervousness seeped out of his body and he relaxed more, he leaned back and started to fully enjoy the teasing dragging of the fine, cold, and coated strands against his skin.

So lost was he in the sensations, that he jolted away when Crowley removed himself from behind him and gestured for him to stand up. 

Somewhat more at ease, but still flushed, Aziraphale nervously pushed the button on his pants through the hole and let them drop down, toeing off his shoes along with his pants to allow easy removal and consequent dressing. 

“Briefs and socks off, too.”, Crowley commanded, tone gentler and smoother. 

“Why remove socks?” 

“You’re going to be naked as the day you were born in front of me. I will be painting your ass. Do you really wanna pitch a fit over showing me your goddamn feet?”

“I am not pitching a feet! Fit, I mean!” Crowley smirked. “I just don’t see the point of it.”

“Helps me,”, Crowley tilted his head to the side and made some vague gestures with his hands. “Visualise the final outcome, if you may.” 

Sitting down on to the edge of the sofa again, he began rolling down his socks off both feet, intensely aware of the severe lack of clothing on his body now. Strangely enough, he didn’t feel half as nervous as he had earlier when he removed his shirt. Maybe it was Crowley or his now pleasantly relaxed energy, it could’ve been the carefully coaxing caresses of his brushes, but he didn’t feel that scared anymore. 

Rising to his feet, his breath got caught in his throat when Crowley dipped to his knees in front of the half-naked author. Placing his long fingers on Aziraphale’s hips above the waistband of his briefs, he gazed at the author’s stomach. 

“Need some work here.”, with a rough, callused finger Crowley traced across a stretch mark starting at Aziraphale’s side and dipping low underneath his pants. 

Aziraphale lifted a shaky hand to his mouth. Did he have to come so close to his crotch while saying that?

Lifting his gaze to pierce right through Aziraphale’s eyes, Crowley hooked his fingers into the hem of the briefs and tugged them down his legs. 

Aziraphale sent every prayer he could recall to every deity he could remember that his member hadn’t decided to join his mind in gushing over the redhead, and his thin, long and rough hands.

The gods above that were usually very upset with him, decided to be kind for once and Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief when he wasn’t exactly hard (not to be taken to mean there were no obvious signs of awakening, but the author and Crowley both decided to ignore that).

‘And really, in his line of work, he must be used to seeing people naked.’

The look in Crowley’s eyes when he had pulled his briefs down replayed in Aziraphale’s head and his semi-hard cock twitched. Thankfully, Crowley’s attention was elsewhere as he rose to his feet and moved to his little table again. 

“Don’t moisturize well, do you? Here,” a bottle of lotion was tossed at the author, who couldn’t catch it because of how rigid his body had decided to feel. Now he’d have to bend to pick it up, which was even more embarrassing. Sensing the shift in the atmosphere again, Crowley turned away. “Layer up. Helps the paint really stick to the skin.” 

Doing as he was being commanded, Aziraphale quickly leaned forward and swiped the bottle off of the ground. He stumbled back a bit, barely keeping himself from landing his butt smack on the ground. Clearing his throat silently, he brushed down his clothes out of habit, came in contact with bare skin and with a flustered blush sat down on the couch. 

“Do you need me to go out for a bit, angel?” 

Undeniably anxious, Aziraphale looked up at Crowley. “We don’t have enough time!” 

“Tell you what, we can just leave. I know a back exit nobody watches. My car is parked right across the street. I can take you wherever you wanna go. Could stop for a spot of lunch?” 

Aziraphale couldn’t say he disliked the idea. Anything that took him out of this ordeal was very much welcome, and if it came with the added benefit of a quiet lunch date with this beautiful gentleman…

The author shook his head. 

“She’s paid me already, and I’d bet she’s paid you too, Anthony.” 

Crowley clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Can pretend you had a seizure? Or I could just refund the money?” 

Aziraphale glared at Crowley’s back. “Well, I can’t!”

Seemingly getting irritated by the author’s high-and-mighty attitude, Crowley whipped around and Aziraphale’s hands immediately went over his lap. 

“Well, you sure as hell don’t look like you can go ahead with it, angel. Never before have I had to work with someone more unwilling to do this!” 

Blowing up like a pufferfish and jumping to his feet in barely concealed embarrassment, Aziraphale exploded. ‘Is this unprofessional and uncouth slacker rudely admitting it to my face that I am anything less than an absolute delight to work with?’

His seasoned soul well-versed in work etiquette quaked in shame. He knew he was being ridiculous, but to have it shamelessly thrown in his face made him defensive. 

“I haven’t ever done this before! I am not comfortable with displaying my body for thousands of people to see!”

Crowley raised a brow. “That is exactly what you’re agreeing to do here, you know that right? Even if you do get through this shoot somehow, you will be everywhere. In every print that goes out, and the soft copies. You can be sure some of your prissy little fans would upload the pictures to other social media sites too. Once these pictures are out your body is going to be there for everybody to gawk at. Not saying that’s a bad thing. Hell, I paint bodies for a living but if you aren’t comfortable with that why sign this contract at all?”

Sighing in frustration, Aziraphale took another step closer to Crowley. 

“I wasn’t told it was part of the contract. My manager just agreed without telling me and received the payment. I didn’t know until after the interview.” 

Crowley’s eyebrows went up and his eyes widened, jaw falling open for a second before he pinned an incredulous look on the author. 

“And you just agreed? You know you aren’t bound to be doing this right? It won’t be illegal to dissolve this contract, strictly speaking. Excuse my French, but you didn’t fucking know what you were getting into!”

The author looked stumped for a second before his eyes brightened with barely concealed hope. 

Crowley’s shoulders sagged and he rolled his eyes. A lazy smile lifted the corner of his mouth and Aziraphale found himself licking his lips. “ You really didn’t think of that?”

With a sheepish sweep through the hair at the back of his head, Aziraphale smiled in accent. 

“For being one of the smartest writers out there, you sure are quite the push-over.”

“I didn’t want to upset Anathema. It’d be rude!” 

“Yeah well, it’s still rude now!”, Crowley grinned. “Admit it, angel, you are just too much of an honorable twat to even save your own arse when needed.”

A smile spread across Aziraphale’s lips, in time with Crowley’s, somewhat shy and definitely sweeter. The insult didn’t really sound like an insult… it sounded like a conversation that wasn’t prompted by business deals or commercial demands. It sounded like someone wanting to tease and play around with him for the first time in God alone knew how long. It sounded like a person taking an interest in him, trying to figure out how he thought and what he was like.

It sounded like being given a chance to be more than an intelligent novelist with a sharp and critical eye, and a paragon of body positivity, and consequently a chance to breathe. Even if it was hardly likely that they’d meet again after Crowley dropped him home, the feeling of having been afforded the space to exist beyond the roles assigned to him would always stay with him. 

… and Crowley seemed to be interested in him. 

‘Well… he didn’t have to ask me to go get dinner.’

“Good thing I met you today, then.”

To his utter fascination, Crowley’s grin turned bashful and unsure and he suddenly seemed lost for words. Aziraphale bit back a chuckle. Mr. Anthony J. Crowley could flirt like it was the easiest thing in the world but when the attention was returned he seemed to blow a fuse and pout while trying to come up with a response. 

“Come on, I am craving crepes.” 

“Well, get dressed then won’t you!” Crowley barked and Aziraphale found himself smirking. Now that the threat of posing bare in front of cameras was off his head, and he had spent a good few minutes butt naked in Crowley’s presence he didn’t particularly mind his nudity, especially as it became obvious by the stubborn jut of Crowley’s jaw to the side, that he was trying his hardest to not ogle Aziraphale.

Turning away, Aziraphale looked down at his torso. “What do I do about the paint, my dear?” 

“Y-you can just wash it off once you get home. It’s not like it’ll hurt you!” 

The author chuckled. “Okay. Okay.” 

“We sneak out first, refund the money and then you text them that you aren’t going ahead with it.” 

Feeling discomfort rise at the prospect Aziraphale jerked back. 

“But that is so…-”

“Can you not?” 

Childishly Aziraphale rolled his eyes and held back his sigh of relief. Well, it definitely would be easier that way, or so he thought... till a terrifying prospect struck him. 

“But what about the interview? Oh, I really wanted it published!”

Crowley scoffed behind him. Aziraphale lifted up his briefs and pants and rapidly put them back on. 

“If Anathema is half the woman the world thinks she is, she’ll keep it in. It’s like she got it for free! Be a fool to scrap it.”

The absolute surety with which the last line was said made Aziraphale wonder if Crowley had been awake to listen to the interview. The thought was endearing. 

“I do hope she thinks so, too.” His fingers finished buttoning up his shirt and he turned back to face Crowley. 

“Can always get my agent on her case if she doesn’t.” Crowley offered with an easy smile, as he waved around his hand in a theatrical gesture before delicately bringing his black glasses to perch on his nose. They quite suited him, though Aziraphale would prefer to be looking at those wondrous eyes instead. 

“How are you not in jail?” 

“Satan’s demons are beyond earthly justice, angel.” 

“Would take an angel to rightly punish one.” 

Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s brain short circuit as he cleared his throat and gracefully strutted away. As much as he liked to hit on Aziraphale he didn’t seem to have any idea as to what to do when the author returned the favor.

‘Adorable.’

Adjusting his bow tie, Aziraphale followed to stand behind Crowley, who was leaning his head outside to survey the halls.

"What about your supplies?" 

"Mmm? She provided the paint for me. I didn't have to bring anything since it wasn't an extensive make-up job, as such."

"Oh." and then “All clear, Anthony?” 

Crowley pulled his head inside and nodded. “For now, so hurry your butt along.” He turned away to strut his way out of the door, then hesitated mid-step and turned back to Aziraphale. 

“Also, call me Crowley.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I am a sap, sue me!  
> Also, I know absolutely jack shit about body painting. So sorry for any mistakes made there.  
> Do comment and tell me what you thought!
> 
> Come scream at me about Good Omens on [my Good Omens side blog](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard) or [my main](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/shamelessllamapeanutthing)


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